Single White Female
by causeway-bay
Summary: A contemporary Who's The Boss story and crossover with Will & Grace. Angela Bower has a lunchbreak with Grace Adler, and reflects on past events of her life. Story takes place during the seventh season of Will & Grace.


I

Grace Adler is a wonderful person.  
I am old enough to be her mother (well, almost) but I've never felt anything remotely resembling maternal affection for her. Mother figures, as far as I know, aren't very appealing to her, anyway.  
Join the club.  
Looking at it vice versa, I'd have to admit that the closest I ever got to having a daughter was when Samantha was living under my roof with her father, and that is not a valid basis for comparison; both girls, however, are successful working women now: Samantha has her academic career, while Grace is self-employed.  
I got to know Grace some years ago, when she had just started her business, an interior-design studio in the City, and was looking for someone to develop a PR strategy for her. Will Truman, a young lawyer whose acquaintance I had made when I was looking for legal representation for then newly incorporated BowerAdvertising, mentioned that they were friends, having observed that my new office inside the ITT American Building was badly in need of redecoration. Which it was. So, by the way, was my life. Thanks for stating the obvious, Esquire.  
Grace did a magnificent job, and when I look around me now, I realize that in this office you saw extraordinary talent at work. I was more than happy to return the favor by doing the PR job for her, and some time later Grace redid my living-room as well, again very tastefully, chasing away the demons of the past while protecting the memories worth preserving, and it was around that time we became friends.  
Yesterday I did what I have done quite regularly ever since we got close: I took an extended lunchtime break to go visit Grace in her studio which is located in the Puck Building down on Lafayette Street.

II

The door to her office was open, as always. Upon entering I noticed that her quirky assistant, Karen Walker, seemed to be absent. Lucky me. When Grace saw me, she started beaming.  
"Angela ! You're here !"  
"That's one of the benefits of self-employment: No-one's reprimanding you for going AWOL."  
We hugged our hello's. It felt wonderful. Always does. I tried to start our girl chat in an innocuous way.  
"So. Is Karen already at lunch ?"  
Grace snorted.  
"Karen ? Come on, Angela. It's noon. She'll probably be somewhere between the fifth and tenth dimension right now."  
I laughed.  
"If she's awake at all and not lying in her coffin. It's broad daylight, you know."  
I laughed even harder. It always cracks me up when Grace talks about Karen that way. I've been there with Mother too many times to not see the similarities. And like Grace loves Karen no matter what happens, so I love my mother. Perhaps I should revise that earlier line about mother figures.  
I walked over to Karen's desk. The phone that had been at the other end of the line when I first called Grace's office stood there, next to a litter of fancy magazines and an empty cocktail glass. I opened one of the magazines at random and stumbled upon an ad for a preposterously expensive Swiss watch. It had been circled with a permanent marker. I showed it to Grace.  
"Does this mean anything in particular ?", I asked with a grin. She smiled weakly.  
"It means she's going to buy it."  
"Good", I said, putting down the magazine again and grinning even broader, "because BowerAdvertising did this ad."  
Now it was Grace's turn to laugh. She looked at me with genuine affection.  
"Angela, I know I've said this before, but when I'm your age I want to be like you: as successful as you are, as attractive, as smart, and as strong..."  
Perhaps I was blushing. Even now, at a certain age, I am still somewhat insecure and tentative as far as compliments are concerned. The legacy of Mona Robinson, oh yes.  
I love you, Mother.  
Looking in Grace's eyes I knew what was going to come next. It is a difficult time in her life and I know all about it: I've been there.  
"Strong is the magic word...", she sighed, then rested her arms on the desk.  
"But you are strong, sweetie." I put an arm around her. "You decided to break up with Leo, decided to divorce him. It takes a lot of strength to make such decisions and to be firm about them."  
"But I love him. How could he do this to me ?"  
"Looking for advice from an older, more experienced woman ?", I said, grinning again. "Well, I must warn you. There was a time when the adjective "experienced" would not sit well with we."  
Grace smiled. Mission accomplished ? Not yet. I continued, trying to lift her mood further.  
"You're not alone, Grace. You have friends. They'll help you get through this. Karen covers the parallel universes and Will is always solid as a rock."  
"You know what, Angela, you're right. You're right. And experienced or not, you know what you're talking about."  
"Absolutely. Separation and divorce are old news to me." I didn't have to tell her stories to beef up this statement. She knows them already. Of course I couldn't see my own face when she told me about her separation from Leo, but I must have looked crestfallen. They were such a wonderful couple. But then again, I myself have been a fifty-percent shareholder of PerfectCouple Inc more than once and if it hadn't been for the fact that both partners, different as they were from each other, eventually turned out to be of the opinion that I should make a career as the Mrs, then there's a pretty good chance I'd still be in that business. Only not in New York City but either in California or in Iowa.  
The only thing worse would have been South Carolina.  
Leo, however, turned out to be an adulterer, and Grace immediately put their relationship on hold. Now she's been divorced a while and is still struggling to get her feet back down on the ground. I'm glad I can be of more assistance here than I could when Samantha got divorced from Hank. If it hadn't been for my Jonathan, eventually Samantha would have jumped out the window, I'm pretty sure about that.  
Jonathan saved Samantha. Who would've thought. It's been so many years, and although I was there I still don't really understand how he pulled that off.  
I'm a good mother.

III

The phone rang. Grace apologised and answered it, not without glaring at Karen's unoccupied desk.  
"Grace Adler Designs."  
She looked at me. By the expression on her face I thought I could tell who was at the other end of the line. I was right. Small wonder.  
"Jack... What !"  
Jack is Jack McFarland, Will Truman's best friend and as such, Grace's friend too. Other than that, you don't want to know anything about him. Believe me, you don't.  
"Jack... What is OUT TV ?"  
She listened attentively, but increasingly unnerved. Eventually she'd heard enough.  
"Jack ! I'm kind of in the middle of something. It's called my life. Yeah, that's right, and FYI, there's something important I need to finish before I can listen to your story: everything else in my life."  
I grinned. I love New York. And this girl.  
"Call Will, why don't you... I know he's a straight actor. Newsflash: So am I."  
With this she hung up on him. Is there anything more powerful than true friendship ? Well, perhaps true employment.  
Grace apologised again.  
"That was Jack. Sorry."  
"I figured as much."  
"Apparently he got a job at a cable station called OUT TV. What's he gonna do there ? He's been out of the closet since Hector was a pup."  
"Jack !", I wondered. "That's kind of like a baseball MVP who's doing Little League."  
Grace laughed. I was glad. It's at a time like this that a girl needs all the positive energy she can possibly get, and if you don't believe it, I'll swear every oath on it. When my marriage officially came to an end, I lost my husband, my son lost his father, and my life would have lost structural cohesion if it hadn't been for Tony. Talk about positive energy. In fact, when I think back I can't help but feel that it was not least because of Tony's influence that I found myself able to put a full stop to the chapter of my life called "Michael Bower". Which was necessary. I kept his name mainly because of Jonathan (well, to be completely honest, I also felt and continue to feel very comfortable with this name), but that's it. Nowadays, some twenty years later, when someone mentions the name "Michael", I think of the movie "Halloween" before I think of my son's father.  
Tony ? Suffice it to say that a framed photograph of the Bower/Micelli patchwork quintet still hangs on the wall here in my office on Madison Avenue.

No regrets. No pain.  
At least not anymore.

When Michael left, it was relief. When Tony closed the door behind him for what I knew would be the last time, it was...  
Well, okay, I'm not going to tell that story again. I know I still love him, much like Grace feels about Leo. The difference is, what do you do when two lives eventually turn out to be fundamentally incompatible ? I hadn't given in to Michael's demands and I certainly wasn't going to treat Tony any differently. Who did they think I am ?  
The older I get the more I am sure that Tony and I, as madly and sincerely in love as we were, simply weren't supposed to be together, never could get together, try as we might. The main difference between him and Michael is that I don't regard my time with Tony as a waste. Au contraire. The years with Tony were the best of my life, and I'll never let anyone tell me otherwise. I don't have to defend myself here. We came close to the grand prize, and even if we didn't quite make it I'm proud to call him the best friend I've ever had.  
And if you don't believe me, come visit me at BowerAdvertising Inc on 437 Madison Avenue (at the corner of East 49th Street). I'll be happy to show you the framed photograph on the wall.  
I wouldn't even trade it for a Picasso.

IV

Grace still has to face all that. I don't envy her, surely not. I guess a cheating husband is somewhat easier to deal with than the reasons I had for throwing out the two men in my life who meant so much to me. But then again, easy (certainly in its comparative degree) is an inappropriate adjective here. If I remember correctly, Grace very firmly told Leo that it was over, although he had offered her his sincere mea culpa and asked for a second chance. It must have been hard, for both of them. I remember when I heard Tony's SUV drive off, knowing he wasn't going to come back, that I started to cry. It had been my decision to pull the plug, a very rational decision, mind you, but as soon as I was alone in my study I said to the empty space Tony had still occupied mere minutes before: "Goodbye, Mr Goodmop. Love you too. Always will." Then the tears started to flow. Heavily.  
(Didn't I just say that I did not want to tell this story again ?)

The decisions we make. Enough books have been written about this subject to sink a fleet, but I don't think we are one step closer to understanding our decision-making process than the cavemen were. Anyway, they had to live with the consequences of their actions just like we do. I have to live with it, Tony does, Grace does, Leo does: The law of Cause and Effect applies.

The more you know. And shooting star.

Shortly thereafter, we were sitting at the BBar & Grill on 4th Street, not far from the Puck Building and our favorite location when having lunch together. Grace went for their Grilled Florida Mahi Mahi, which prompted me to tell her an old story about how city girl Angela, many years ago, caught herself a ten-pound-something trout in the clear and cold water of a Maine river - to the amazement of Mr Macho Micelli, amazement which he was barely able to hide behind sarcasm. I thought this story put me in a somewhat better light than the other fishy tale in which I got to meet Wolfgang Puck, so despite its tempting array of possible puns I refrained from telling that one.  
We all fabricate our own history, and yours truly is no exception.  
I had a Pizza Asparagus, as I so often do and not just in memory of the master of the craft.  
The lunch went relatively undisturbed, considering I got just one phone call from one of my vice presidents who was apparently going bonkers over some market research numbers. I told Dilbert, as I like to call him, to relax.  
Grace smiled.  
"Remember just there I told you some day I want to be like you ? Add "as cool as you are" to the list. The only phone calls I get during lunch break are from people like Jack McFarland aka Dr Donothing."  
"Lucky you."  
Now she laughed. Her laugh is pure perfection, the way she does it as much with the eyes as with the mouth. It is so wonderful you can't help but join in; it's almost literally infectious. And when she's laughing she reminds me of Samantha too.  
Back on my mother-figures soapbox, am I !  
I don't pretend to know whether and when Grace will be able to close the chapter called "Leo" definitively. Maye she won't. Maybe there will come a day when she decides to give him a second chance. I did with Tony. And although we ultimately failed, I would always do it again exactly the way I did back then. I could never have lived with the knowledge that there was even the slightest chance of success for our relationship and we passed it up.  
However, our failure should not be seen as a bad omen for Grace and Leo. They are younger than Tony and I were at the time, and what's more important, they are not at all incompatible. Leo made a mistake, but mistakes, even if they cannot be undone, can be forgiven.  
I recognized the music playing in the restaurant as Kraftwerk's "Autobahn". Memories came back, memories of a time when I still had to get used to writing my name as "Angela Bower", a time when someone named Jonathan Bower was still only an oxygen bubble in the ocean, when Samantha Micelli was taking her first little steps without help, and when Grace Adler was preparing for her first Camp Hashomer Hatzair.  
I sipped at my Pirramimma, listening to the lyrics of the old song...

"Vor uns liegt ein weites Tal  
Die Sonne scheint mit Glitzerstrahl"

My German is rusty, but I thought I could understand - or remember - that it was about the view of a wide valley opening in front of us while the sun is shining with glittering rays. Isn't that a great metaphor for the journey we call life ?

V

Grace Adler is a wonderful person.  
And I am proud to call her my friend. Whoever said that diamonds are a girl's best friend was an idiot. No matter how different Grace and I may be, there is much of myself I recognize in her, and seldom do I manage not to chuckle when finding those little similarities in character. I'm looking forward to watching her path and how she walks it in the future, and hoping for the sun to shine on it with glittering rays.  
I don't think I've ever met anyone more interesting since that day in an ancient past when Tony stood in front of my door to apply for the housekeeping job and I thought this was another one of Mother's pranks. To be honest, I was initially sceptic, too, when Truman, Esq. tried to sell me Grace's talent in interior design. But not unlike in Tony's case, I don't regret that I gave Grace a chance. Not at all.  
Thank you again, Will, for introducing us.  
When we kissed our goodbyes in front of the Puck Building's main entrance, we agreed to meet again next week. Same time, same place. We always do that, because it feels good to know when you'll meet up again.  
When she had disappeared inside I looked around me. The sun was shining. New York. The Puck Fair. Over on Houston Street the giant Calvin Klein ad, not courtesy of BowerAdvertising - yet. Yellow cabs. People passing me by. Soon I'd be back on Madison Avenue, and indeed that's where I still am, after hours, hitting the keyboard of my laptop and burning the memory of an interesting day into the device's digital flesh.  
Soon I'll be back in Connecticut, and I guess I could call Oak Hills Drive home, but someone like me doesn't have a home in the traditional, perhaps not even in the physical sense. I'm grounded in my world because of what I do rather than because of where I belong. I feel as much at home in the City as I do in Fairfield, as much in my living-room as I do in my office. Want to call me an East Coast girl ! Well, I got news for ya: There's worse. Much worse.  
Way to snatch a compliment out of the hands of an insult, isn't it.

I'm looking at the wall. The poster-sized photograph of five happy people is looking back at me, framed and prominent, a moment in time frozen for eternity, immobile and yet so moving, silent and yet so eloquent. In my heart I keep the treasure of their stories, enriching my soul every day, free but priceless. I could never claim not to have made mistakes, certainly not, but even those that I did make feel good in retrospect, because they are part of my journey, having led me to where I am now, and continuing to be part of my journey, part of the wide valley opening in front of me:

"I got just one life / In a world that keeps on pushin' me around  
But I'll stand my ground / And I won't back down"


End file.
